


It Never Rains But It Pours

by deanandsam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, F/M, Foster Kid Dean, Foster kid Sam, Gen, hooker Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21780016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanandsam/pseuds/deanandsam
Summary: Dean is a foster kid who at nineteen is now out of the system. He has a day job, but a lot of his nights are occupied too.Updated.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	It Never Rains But It Pours

It was a night in which only the witless or demented would venture out, at least that's how the young man called it as he made his way, head bent, along the sidewalk to his parked car.

The rain fell from the heavens as if it was out to present the world with a second Flood, only this time Dean doubted there would be a Noah ready to save the Earth's fauna and a few family members on his wooden Ark.

Not that Dean was overly concerned.  
The world was a shit-bag anyway, so bringing on a cleansing tsunami to make everything bright and shiny again was fine with him.  
As for family, he certainly couldn't remember ever having one, nor it seemed did anyone else, as he'd been in the foster system ever since abandoned as a baby on the steps of an hospital.

He pushed the thought away, the past wasn't something he wanted to dwell on, better to concentrate on getting to the relative shelter of his car and out of this freak storm, that is if he managed to find it given the near-zero visibility and the water cascading in miniature waterfalls down his face.

More than find his ride, he stumbled on it, her long unmistakable lines looming out of the rain like a sanctuary.

Dean unlocked the car but didn't slide inside, first turning away to shrug off his drenched jacket, hoping to save the car's leather seat from treading water.  
The Impala was his pride and joy, and though he could do nothing about his pants and boots, he could at least save her that.

He took a moment to heave a sigh of relief at being out of the rain, then the powerful engine roared into life.  
He soon realized the headlights were of no use against the sheets of rain and so at a snail's pace and more from instinct than anything else, Dean made his way back to his tiny apartment.

Nineteen years old and pretty as a picture.  
At least his unknown parents had bequeathed him that.

Despite his young age, or perhaps because of it, Dean had already built up a steady clientele among the cougar sisterhood, the bored, stay at home wives with absent, career-orientated husbands, passing the word and lining up to pay for a night with Dean's young body and perfect face.

Once out of the system, Dean had found himself with very few options.  
Yeah, he'd found a job in a car body shop, but his wages weren't enough to cover all his needs, so when the snooty forty-something wife came in to collect her Porsche and offered Dean good money for services outwith those of a mechanic, he didn't take long to make a decision.

He was no virgin. The way he'd been deflowered while a kid still made him shiver with horror, nonetheless he accepted the offer and it had been all downhill from there.  
His phone was filled with numbers from satisfied clients.

Though he had some money in the bank now, he still kept his tiny apartment. He didn't need much. Any expenses incurred when meeting with his clients were covered by the ladies themselves, so he managed just fine.

The heavens continued to piss water as he pulled up next to his apartment block, the pale glow from the street lights a fuzzy, useless halo.

“Fuck this!” Dean grunted, pushing the car door open. There was no use putting it off. He'd make a run for the door He was wet through anyway.

The key was already turning in the lock when he realized he'd left his dripping jacket back in the car.  
He was tempted to just leave it there, but he needed to dry it out. Cursing, he dived back into the rain and ran to the Impala.

Afterward, he was to wonder at how that simple action was to change his life completely.  
At first, he thought it was a trick of the light, but as he approached the car, he could've sworn he saw a shadowy movement inside.  
Freaking hell. There was something in the back seat.  
Yanking the door open, he found himself gazing down at a kid, curled up unbelievably small in the foot-well.

“You little runt, “ Dean called. “What the fuck are you doing in my car?”  
He tended a hand to grab the kid's arm and yank him out, but he pulled back when he felt the trembling of the flesh beneath his fingers.

“Hey,” he said, his voice less threatening. “I'm not gonna hurt you, I'm just kinda pissed there's a stowaway in my car.”

The kid swallowed audibly.  
“I'm sorry mister. I didn't mean to. I was desperate and when I saw you unlock the car I slipped in the back, hoping the dark and rain would hide me. You're not gonna call the cops are you? Just let me go. I won't bother you again.”

Dean's anger at someone defiling his car waned.  
The hardest of hearts would've been moved by the wretchedness of the boy, wet and shivering like a lost puppy, and Dean despite his difficult life and outward cockiness, had the softest of hearts where younger children were concerned.

“Listen. You got anywhere to go, other than the back seat of my car, I mean?”

“Uh-yeah. I uh...” the kid stuttered.  
Dean felt himself grinning. “I take it that's a no?”

The boy ducked his head.

With a sigh, Dean stretched out a hand once more.  
“Come on, runt. Let's make a deal. I give you a place to hang out tonight. You can dry your clothes and take a shower. I'll even give you breakfast, then send you on your merry way.”

Ignoring the proffered hand, the boy nevertheless pulled himself up from the footwell and slipped onto the seat. He caught Dean's eyes and seemed to be studying him, then he nodded and stepped out of the car.

Once on his feet, Dean saw he was taller than he'd appeared scrunched up in the Impala, his head coming up to just past Dean's shoulder.

Taking hold of the boy's arm he escorted him towards the building. He was afraid the kid was going to bolt and for some reason, he didn't want that to happen.  
The rain was still lashing down when he ushered the kid into his apartment and closed the door behind them.

“It's not much, but at least it's dry,” Dean said, turning to stare at the foundling who hadn't moved from the entrance...  
He heaved a sigh. “Look I don't bite, okay, and I don't have a 'thing' for kids, so you're safe. You got a name?”

The boy nodded and came hesitantly forward into the small sitting room. “It's Sam.”

It was only then that Dean noted the rags he was wearing.

Fuck he thought to himself, if he put them in the washer, they'd come out in shreds.

The kid was skinny as a rake and worse, just visible above the faded collar of his shirt, were a series of red marks on his skin.  
Dean's pity for the boy increased. He knew what they signified.

“So, Sam! “ Dean smiled, trying to put him more at ease.  
“The bathroom's just over there,” he added, pointing to a door leading off the side of the room. “I'll go dig out some clean sweat pants and a shirt. You'll find towels inside. If it makes you feel safer, lock the door but you've nothing to fear from me, you got that?”

The kid considered the offer for a moment then nodded.

Dean was dripping wet himself but he figured Sam needed to get into something dry. He'd seen drowned rats in better condition. Going into the bedroom, he rummaged through the wardrobe, pulling out an old shirt and a pair of pants

“I'll rustle up some coffee and cookies while you shower. You look as if you need something hot inside you,” he said, handing Sam the dry clothes.

A couple of minutes later he heard the hiss of water.

He eyed his watch. It was after 1:00 am. He'd been with a client whose husband had unexpectedly called to say he'd be back earlier than expected. She'd pressed a hundred dollars into his hand and sent him on his way.

Not bad for an hour's work with one of the rich bitches. Dean mused, storing the cash in his hidey-hole, beneath a loose tile in the tiny kitchen.

He had a bank account, but that was only for his official job. He'd been a foster kid and the first thing you learned was to hide away anything you held dear, and cash definitely came into that category.

Setting two mugs on the table, he emptied some cookies onto a plate. It wasn't much but he hadn't had time to stock up.  
The eggs and pancake mix were reserved for breakfast.

The lock on the bathroom door clicked and Sam came out, drowned in Dean's cast-offs but a hundred times better than he'd been before.  


“Take a seat, dude. I never thought to ask if you drink coffee. There's still some juice in the fridge if you want.”

“Coffee's fine,” the kid replied softly as if he was surprised to have been consulted. He slid onto the chair, settling his ass right on the edge, ready to run.

He clasped the cup with both hands, and this time Dean couldn't help but notice a colorful variety of bruises peeking out from the sleeves of the shirt, but he kept silent.

Inwardly sighing, he hardened his heart. He couldn't fix all the shit that went down in the world. The kid would be gone in the morning. What had happened to the boy was none of his business......And ...yet...

“So Sam, huh? It kinda suits you,” Dean said. “Though I'd say you're more of a Sammy!”

The kid shrugged and sipped his coffee.  
“It's good,“ he volunteered shyly. “Sweet and milky.”

“Help yourself to the cookies, dude.“  
Sam reached out a hand, long fingers promising that the boy still had a lot of growing to do, and bit into the chocolate chip cookie.

The kid was skinny as hell, Dean observed, but once more he pushed the thought to the side.  
He'd done his good deed for the day, but that didn't stop him from surreptitiously studying the boy from beneath his eyelashes.

Sam was running from something, that was obvious. No normal kid with a loving family would need to be roaming the streets during such a storm, then seek refuge in a stranger's car.

Again he tried to tell himself it was none of his business, yet he couldn't stop the words from falling from his lips.

“You in trouble, Sam?”  
The boy gave a little jump before shaking his head.

“I get it, it's none of my business, but I know what it's like to find yourself on your own, with no-one to give you a hand.”

“It's fine, “ Sam replied nervously. ” I'll go in the morning and you won't have any more bother from me.”

“So you're not gonna tell me why you ended up in my car? You running from something? Maybe I can help.”

“No-one can, “ the kid answered, his hazel eyes tearing up. “You've been good to me. I don't want you to get into trouble. I'm not worth it.”

“Why don't you let me be the judge of that,“ Dean replied. “How old are you anyway?”

Sam shrugged. “Fifteen I guess. Don't know exactly when I was born.”

Fuck, with every word this kid was wrapping himself around his heart.  
Sam was an orphan, didn't know when he was born and if the hickeys and bruises he'd noted were anything go by, had suffered the same treatment as Dean himself.

“You a foster kid?”  
Sam nodded.  
“Me too,” Dean said. “And I don't know my birthdate either. So you see we have a lot in common.”

A mote of curiosity appeared in the boy's eyes.  
“Yep, “ Dean continued. “They found me on the hospital steps when I was a new-born. No idea who I am. How about you?”

“Don't know, “ Sam mumbled into his coffee. “No-one's ever told me anything.”

And another tendril of endearment for the boy curled itself around Dean's heart.  
“What? You're telling me you know nothing about yourself, not even where you were found?”

All I remember is living in the foster home until I was ... given to...”  
His face paled as if he couldn't bring himself to continue.

“It's okay, Sammy,” Dean said gently. “You don't know me. You don't have to tell me anything. Come on it's time little kids like you were tucked up in bed.”

“Not a kid, “ Sam objected with an adorable pout.

Studying the cute visage, Dean had no trouble understanding how he could appeal to the baser instincts of the same kind of animals who'd preyed on himself.

“Listen. I know you said you want to leave in the morning, but if you feel up to it, stay until I get back from work tomorrow. We can talk more and maybe come to some arrangement for you to hang around here for a while. Just until you get things worked out. Would you be good with that?”

Sam gave him another of his intense stares as if examining his very soul. “Why would you want to help me? I'm just some street kid?”  
Dean shrugged. He didn't have the answer to that question himself. It just felt right somehow.

“I want to give you a hand,” Dean said. "And I'd enjoy the company. Never really made many friends myself."

“Okay, thanks,” Sam agreed. “Just until I get things sorted out.”  
“Just until then “ Dean echoed, inexplicably happy that the boy had agreed to remain, at least until tomorrow.

Sleep evaded Dean when he finally crawled into bed after his shower, the events of the evening preying on his mind.

The boy sleeping fitfully on his worn couch wasn't by any means the first waif he'd dealt with. The foster home had been full of sad-eyed children.  
Dean, although in the self-same position himself, had always forced himself to smile and console the younger kids, somehow this was different.

Huffing to himself, Dean wondered how in the space of a few hours he'd turned into the mom of a kid he knew nothing about and who'd be gone in the morning.

The aroma of fresh coffee assaulted his nostrils when he came to, daylight peeking through the shades.  
It took Dean a moment to regroup, sleeping for barely an hour, as his bedside alarm informed him, left one a little confused.

Sam!

He threw off the covers and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

The boy was standing at the sink, washing up the dishes from the night before, a pot of newly brewed coffee on the counter.

A warm feeling filled Dean at the sight.  
So the boy hadn't fled during the night after all. The idea that Sam had trusted him enough to remain, made him happy.

“Hey, squirt. You sleep okay?”  
“Uh..yeah... Thanks.”  
The kid turned to face Dean, his shaggy hair flopping over his eyes. “I made some coffee—if that's alright,” he added in an unsteady voice.

“It's not just alright, it's life-saving, “ Dean grinned. “It's the first time in a long while I haven't had to make it on my own.”

The boy ducked his head, poured a generous cup and set it before the older man, followed by a plate of pancakes. “I found the eggs and thought you might be hungry.”

“Dude, you are awesome. This sure makes up for stowing away in my car last night.”

The boy gave a half-smile. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks for letting me sleep here. I'll get out of your hair just as soon as I get back into my clothes.”

“Listen, Sam. There's no rush. Like I said last night. I gotta go to work, but you can hang out here until I get back. Then we can talk some more.  
It's not my business, but at a guess, you need a place to stay and regroup. Here's just as good as any.  
And I gotta say you make a mean coffee too. “ Dean said. “What do you say?”

Sam hesitated, unsure whether volunteer any information. “Look...uh .. Dean. Someone is looking for me, “ he finally said. “And they won't be happy if they find out you've helped me. They could hurt you.....”

Dean felt his anger mount at the thought than anyone could harm this gentle kid. But someone had, going from the multicolored bruises he could see on Sam's wrists. The kid had stumbled into Dean's life, which made Dean part of whatever was going on.

“I can look out for myself, “ Dean declared. “Foster kid, remember! I want to help you, Sammy. You can stay here as long as you need to.  
If you decide otherwise, I can't stop you from leaving while I'm at work but I really would like you to trust me, I only have your well-being at heart.  
A kid like you shouldn't have all this crap to deal with. So I'm asking you officially. Please stay.”

When the kid gave a quick nod, Dean felt himself relax.

::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::  
As he made to enter the garage to start work, Dean's cellphone pinged. It was the cougar from last night, telling him to keep his agenda free for Friday.

Huh, Dean grunted. Her husband must be off again at the weekend. All to the good. Now that he had a guest, any extra cash was welcome.  
He smiled to himself. He wouldn't be going back to an empty house, not tonight.

Sam pottered around the small apartment, tidying up, all the while wondering if he was doing the right thing by sticking around.

But he was so scared, tired and hurting.  
When he'd had the chance last night, he'd run, thankful for the blinding rain that had kept Frank from spotting him. And when the black car had appeared like a mirage in the watery desert, he'd crawled quickly in back, hoping the owner wouldn't notice.

Wherever it went was fine with Sam as long as it took him away from Frank.

He absent-mindedly rubbed at the bruises on his wrist.  
Frank liked to tie him down. He got drunk on power... on dominating Sam's young body.

With a shiver, Sam knew he was still alive only because Frank had a perverse crush on him, treating him better than the poor kids who'd gone before.  
For there HAD been other kids. Sam had heard him on the phone talking with whoever it was that dealt with getting rid of the previous victims.

When Frank had incautiously left him free, Sam had grasped the opportunity, knowing he'd never get another.

He sighed. Though he wanted to remain, he knew Frank would take his revenge on Dean if he found out the older boy had helped him. He'd have to leave but not today.

Dean wanted him to stay and he would, for a short time, just long enough to come up with a plan to distance himself as far as possible from Dave.  


Whistling, Dean turned the key in the lock. “It's me, Sam,” he called out, just to reassure his young guest before walking into the living area.

The kid smiled shyly at him over the laid table.  
“I made some tomato soup with rice,“ Sam said. “I wasn't sure when you'd be back and it's just as tasty reheated.”

“You're an angel, “ Dean grinned.  
The boy's cheeks flushed pink. “I'm no angel. Probably the opposite.”

But Dean just came forward and tousled the chestnut bangs. “So tomato soup? I hope you made a potful. I could eat a horse. Heat away. I'm gonna take a quick shower. Got the smell of car grease all over me.”

“So, how did you pass your day?” Dean asked. It felt good to have someone to talk to, instead of an empty room.  
“Just tidied up, and found some books to read.”

“You like books?”  
Sam nodded.  
“I can get you plenty more. My boss's daughter is a real bookworm and her dad's always looking to give them away after she's done with them.”  
"That'd be cool," Sam replied, quashing the little voice which whispered that he'd be long gone by then.

When Dean had disappeared into the bathroom, Sam sighed.  
He was getting used to being here, used to Dean. It was like having an older brother.  
Leaving would be very hard, but leave he must. Sam wasn't about to bring trouble down on the guy who'd let him into his home.  
Add to that, although Frank had a thing for younger kids, Dean was a good-looking guy. He didn't want him to be spotted by that douche, maybe put him in danger too.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: 

On Saturday evening, Dean drove the Impala into the all-night diner's car park where he usually left her when he had a job in the area, then walked a couple of blocks to the client's apartment.  
It was a luxurious condo, though Dean knew the family had a McMansion somewhere out in the country-side.  
Not that he gave a fuck, He showed the women a good time, went along any fetishes they desired. Well up to a certain point!

So far he'd had nothing but excellent 'references' and it was getting to the point where he was being offered far more business than he could handle. There were only seven nights in the week, after all!

He’d told Sam to take the bedroom that night as he’d be home late. He’d crash on the couch, that way, he wouldn’t disturb him. Sam had opened his mouth to object that Dean didn’t have to give up his bed, he’d sleep fine on the floor. It wouldn’t be the first time but Dean had insisted. ‘You need food and rest, otherwise you’ll grow up stunted, squirt. ‘ Sam had twitched uncomfortably, unused to anyone caring about his comfort but finding that being fussed over was becoming kind of addictive. 

Dressed only in a sheer dressing gown Mary Davidson opened the door, her attire giving Dean a quick reminder of her trim, firm body, though she was easily twenty years older than him.

“Dean, sorry about last time. Roger came home earlier than expected. Come on in.”  
She clasped a hand over his groin and grinned. “Hope little Dean wasn't too disappointed. I'll make it up to him tonight.”

The woman was beautiful, her long blond hair a soft halo around her pretty face.  
Dean felt his body respond to her nearness, he was a red-blooded guy after all. However, there was something about this particular client which was especially arousing.  
She paid well too, he grinned to himself as he followed her into the apartment. Paid for giving and receiving pleasure. Not bad for a second job.

Dean knew the routine.  
She liked to undress him herself, running her hands over the smooth skin of his chest, undoing his jeans and cupping his genitals in her hand, before kneeling to take the hardening cock between her lips, and coaxing to it to its full, thick length, causing Dean to shiver in anticipation, but as usual, she'd stop before he came, standing and leading him to the bed, waiting for him to arouse her with his hands and mouth before impaling her with his straining cock.

It was after three when he left the purring, sated woman, a wad of dollars in his pocket, a skip in his step as he made his way back to the Impala.

He was almost considering leaving his day job. He earned far more renting himself out to the rich bored housewives than he did repairing cars, but he enjoyed working on them. It relaxed him.

Parking the Impala, he hurried up home. He hadn't told Sam what he did at night, just that he worked some overtime.  
His instinct told him the kid might not take it well, though Dean felt no embarrassment at what he did. After all, he was neither stealing nor selling drugs, he gave an honest service and was paid for it.

Creeping inside he shrugged off his clothes and hunkered down on the sofa bed, sleep quickly overwhelming him.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

With a yawn, Dean came to, he always slept well after sex, even paid sex. He sighed. Currently, that was the only sex he was getting!  
The idea of finding a steady girlfriend didn’t equate with prostituting oneself. Not that he hadn’t had offers but the thought of further complicating his existence with a sentimental relationship was off the cards. Maybe in the future when his body wasn’t as much in demand among his clients.

He frowned at the noises coming from the bathroom, forgetting for a moment that he had a guest, but then a smile lit up his face. Sam.

He rolled off the couch onto his feet. The kid had prepared breakfast for him yesterday. He’d return the favor. By the time Sam appeared in the doorway, Dean had just finished slipping the eggs and ham onto two plates, a glass of juice and two cups of coffee soon joined them.

‘Good morning, dude,’ Dean smiled. ‘You sleep okay.’  
Sam nodded. He’d slept like a log. There had been something about sleeping in Dean’s bed which had tranquilized him, made him feel safe, though why that should be, he had no idea.

‘Yeah, but you didn’t need to sleep on the couch. I wouldn’t have heard you come in anyway.’  
Sam’s nose twitched in anticipation of the food on the table. He’d eaten more in the two days he’d been here than in a week with Frank. The douchebag liked to keep him weak, less chance of running off if you were half-starved.

With genuine pleasure Dean looked on as Sam tore into the food, musing on how nice it was to come home to someone and not to four bare walls.  
‘I was thinking,’ Dean said as he sipped his coffee. ‘Today’s Sunday. Why don’t we take the car and head for the woods? Fresh air is what you need. You’re paler than the driven snow. How does that sound?’

A flitter of alarm glinted in Sam’s eyes. ‘I don’t want to go outside.’  
‘’You gonna tell me what’s going on with you, kid? Why are you so scared, or should that be who are you so scared of?’

Sam pushed back the chair in panic and got to his feet. ‘It’s time for me to go, Dean. You’ve helped me enough. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.’

With the velocity of a striking cobra, Dean rounded the table and gripped the boy’s arm.  
‘Look at me, Sammy. Nothing bad is going to happen to me. I can look out for myself. I have since I was a kid and I can look out for you too. But you have to tell me what’s going on. Otherwise, I’m going in blind.’

Tears welled up in Sam’s eyes. He’d never cried when Frank had abused him but in the face of Dean’s kindness, all the pent-up emotion flowed from his heart as if a dam had burst.

Dean pulled the boy into a hug, letting Sam get it all out. He’d grown inordinately ford of the waif in a few short days. The boy had become important to him. Whatever his battles were, Dean would fight alongside him.  
TBC


End file.
